“I think…”
“Oh, thank goodness!” Catharine rushed down the stairs, pale blue skirts in hand, her golden hair flowing wildly behind her.
“You are here!” she exclaimed, grabbing Victoria’s hands. “The Fates have sent you to me. I do not know what to do. Papa is going to Italy next week, as Ferber says. And I am not going with him.”
“But you cannot stay in London alone,” Victoria protested. She nodded then. “He means you to stay with us.”
Catharine shook her head, her blue eyes flashing with anger. “He does not. I was going to try to come and see you today. Papa ordered me to stay away from you and not communicate his intentions.”
“Whatever is going on? He was so insistent that he would secure your Season and an excellent match. How can he be going off to Italy so soon?”
“I am to be married,” Catharine said, her face flushing with horror.
“I beg your pardon,” Victoria echoed, her stomach tightening.
Catharine clutched Victoria’s hands. “He has given me a choice.”
“A choice,” Victoria echoed flatly.
“Yes. Three gentlemen have made offers for me.”
“But you have not even had a season.”
Catharine’s burgeoning temper crackled to the surface. “He invited a host of gentlemen to a private dinner! Where upon he all but took bids! Can you imagine?”
Had her father lost his wits entirely? Was he so determined to see them both wed post haste? It seemed so.
“They all drank port and smoked cheroots.” She shuddered. “Not a one is a day younger than forty. Father says I am not to have a chance at foolishness. That he wouldn’t make the same mistake with me that he had you.”
Catharine pulled her hands back and propped them on her hips. “He thinks he can ensure that I am a sheep. I will never be thus.”
Victoria nodded. “You’re a goat. Just like me.”
Catharine stared but then laughed. “I suppose I am.” Her laugh turned into a shaking sob before she drew herself up. “This is most upsetting. Even if it is the way of the world, I did think that I was at least going to be presented at court.”
Catharine’s face turned a blotchy red as she sucked in breaths. “That does not seem to be the case. I’m to marry one of these fools and be sent away to the country to breed immediately.”
Victoria’s stomach turned. Her sister was beautiful. There was no denying it. She was not as interested in history as Victoria was, which had meant that they were not always close. But Victoria loved her sister, dearly. After their mother died, they’d been each other’s comfort. For their father was not an affectionate man.
Catharine was good and kind and intelligent. Her love of poetry was remarkable, the way she studied it, memorized it, recited it. It was as profound as her own love of artifacts.
Catharine closed her eyes and grimaced. “You should see the three of them.”
“You’ve seen them?”
Her sister opened her eyes, and the expression was pure horror.
“Who?” Victoria demanded.
“Lord Herbert, Lord Chesterville, and Lord Farthingale.”
“Good lord,” Victoria groaned. “Two of them have been married before and have grown children. And the other…” She shuddered.
“I am aware,” said Catharine.
“Whatever is Father about?” Victoria lamented. He hadn’t always been like this. They’d worked happily together for years. But once she’d come of age…
Catharine’s eyes narrowed to angry slits. “It’s as if he’s decided he no longer wishes to have the responsibilities of family. He wants to go to Italy. He’s made that plain again and again and again. He says he wishes to excavate the Etruscans sites. Whatever am I to do?” She pressed her hands to her cheeks. “And he says that he shall go to Egypt next. God help the buried pharaohs.”